Holding Out
by EA Games
Summary: Sakura is injured and her lover refuses to touch her. He just doesn’t want to cause her more pain, but she’s making it very hard for him. Very, very hard. You just have no idea.


**[HOLDING OUT]**

**By:** EA Games

**A/N**: Okay, so another oneshot for the masses (Not that they pay any attention to me). Happy Happy Joy Joy. Sigh. I am working on a chapter fic, really, I am.

**Disclaimer**: I do not own, nor will I ever own, any of the fandoms I write for on this website.

**Summary:** Sakura is injured and her lover refuses to touch her. He just doesn't want to cause her more pain, but she's making it very hard for him.

-

Sakura sipped at her lukewarm tea obediently, for the moment, at least. It was merely lukewarm because _he_ was afraid she would burn herself.

Whereas normally Sakura would have the brain capacity of more than a five year old, and could keep from burning herself on _tea_ (hot chocolate was another matter entirely), now her fiancé had confusedly decided that her injury was having ill effects on her mind, as well.

Her injury to her _leg_ (and knuckles, but that was fairly normal).

She had been poisoned, something she herself could fix with little difficulty, but unfortunately she had no chakra, and none of the other medics were as skilled as her with poisons.

(She didn't want to admit that she didn't trust them. She was just used to healing herself, is all.)

So, she had to wait it out, with only her fiancé to assist her.

Which was completely his own fault. He had brought her to his home immediately and locked her in his bedroom, barring anyone else entrance.

The mission she had been on was a longer one, lasting almost three months.

It seemed forever to her, in comparison to the super-short missions she had only been allowed to take before, as head medic.

And on top of that, it was a solo-mission.

And I don't know what you got from all that, but it probably wasn't why Sakura was sitting in her _lovers_ bed so forlornly.

It probably _wasn't_ why Sakura was cutely pouting as her lover ran his fingers so carefully through her hair.

I mean, really. Sakura didn't want him to _carefully_ run his fingers through her hair. She wanted him to grab her by her hair and forcefully yank her into his arms, into _him_.

Sakura hadn't had sex in three months.

Sakura wanted _sex_. Hot rough desperate sweaty dirty SEX.

And her lover had refused her.

Sakura sighed noisily.

His hand stilled. Gentle butterfly kisses rained down on her jaw, her throat.

Sakura frowned. He was never this affectionate. _Never_.

She opened her mouth to say something, but he brought his pianists fingers to her mouth, silently shushing her.

Then the fingers were gone and his mouth was on hers. She sighed again, but this time it was a content sigh.

His lips parted against hers, mouth slanting – again, ever so gently – over her own. A tongue slipped out and parted her lips before retreating, carefully keeping the kiss slow and sweet.

But Sakura didn't want slow and sweet.

Sakura wanted her lover's passion.

But before she had a chance to amp up the heat he pulled back.

Sakura silently cursed.

But what she didn't know was that he was doing the same.

He truly hated having to restrain his passion for the pink haired nymphet, but he was willing to do it in order to keep her from feeling more pain. Was inclined to do it, really.

He hadn't been able to touch his woman in three months, and then she gets back and he makes plans to shove her against the wall, to kiss her mindless, to mark her skin with his love, to _show her_ how much he had missed her.

And _instead_ he had been forced to carry her home, because she could not walk. And she couldn't walk be cause someone. Had. Hurt. Her.

And maddeningly enough, he was already dead.

Sakura whimpered.

He groaned.

_Annoying minx._

Her hands caught onto his shirt, yanking him back down to her. Before he had a chance to gasp he found her tongue in his mouth as she clumsily kissed him.

He forced himself to bite her tongue, although only hard enough to make her back off.

Unfortunately, she nipped him back, catching the sensitive spot on his bottom lip. The groan that followed was husky and definitely _not_ supposed to have escaped.

Her uninjured leg wrapped securely across the back of his thighs, bringing their hips together and anchoring him there. One femininely toned arm draped firmly around the back of his neck, the lithe and calloused fingers of the other tangling in dark locks and not letting go.

He grimaced against cracked, dry lips. He could not get away from her, not without hurting her.

She wiggled slightly underneath him but he held his body deathly still.

He did not want to hurt her, damn it! Would she just cooperate before he threw all of his good intentions out the window?

Then, when the uncontrolled wiggling didn't work, she began bucking her hips up into his, grinding them from side to side against his own.

He gasped and awkwardly cupped her injured leg under the thigh, pushing it to the side so her soft wet heat cupped him through his jeans.

And 'She's not wearing panties', was the only thing his mind registered. Ah, _hell_.

And then she was releasing him, letting her leg fall limply off of him.

Was she hurt? Had he hurt her? If she-

He was inside of her. Oh, oh, oh, _oh…_

She was wet, dripping onto the sheets underneath the couple. Her muscles tensed, pulsing around him, gripping him tightly and comfortingly.

He suddenly felt completely different, like something had been wrong, like a piece of him had been missing before, and now…

Now he was home.

And it didn't matter that he had never left, that _she_ had been the one to leave him, because…

Because _she_ was his home, wherever she was.

_If she lived behind a dumpster, eating table scraps, I would be right beside her, _he thought romantically. Or, not so romantically.

She suddenly drew her hips back as much as possible and thrust back onto him with enough force to make his hips rise up several inches.

He began to pant. _Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit-_

Oh, _fuck_. He had unwittingly ground back down against Sakura, the _beautiful, beautiful_-

"Uchiha Sasuke, if you don't fuck me _now_, and fuck me _hard_, you will _starve_."

And it was only at his home that he got to eat her absolutely delicious tomatoe soup...

"_Sasuke_!"


End file.
